Slaughterhouse
by phantasorgasmic
Summary: Against all odds, she managed to wrestle insanity and stay alive long enough to know him. She licked her lips uneasily before reaching up to kiss him one last goodbye. "My twin will do anything to make sure you're dead. But I'm Saoirse Moriarty, and I'm supposed to keep you alive." So it goes. Sherlock/OC. Slight Jim/OC/Sebastian.
1. Prologue

Here the story begins with a woman who believed her life was defined by Kurt Vonnegut novels. So it goes.

Her vision was blurred and her knees in the snow. Frost. Cold. Numb. She could not think. She could not even shiver. Her lips were purple and wide open, cracked, bleeding into an expanse of white. It was beautiful.

"I was there," read the note she had left in the snow. A gloved finger reached out to caress her chestnut hair from her brows. The hooded figure knelt down and kissed her tenderly on her frozen cheeks.

"Too many corpses to bury," a female voice. "But I won't burn your body. It'd be a shame to lose such a pretty face." Her hand cupped her cheek again and lingered for a little, and then backed away.

"More of a shame to lose those talents of hers," a male voice interrupted. "She was interesting while she lasted."

"Better to die interesting," she breathed, pulling her jacket closer around her and taking his outreached arm. She shivered, her bones craving warmth. "You can drop me off in London."

"Back to your _ordinary_ lifestyle?"

"Life's never ordinary with you watching my every move," she blinked heavily, attempting to rid of the frost that was collecting on her eyelashes. "Jim, dear brother."

"It's because I worry about you," he cackled. "Constantly."

* * *

I haven't written anything but original stories lately, so I decided to write something based on BBC Sherlock. This story is here mostly for my personal satisfaction and sense of accomplishment; it is not nearly as well-written as I'd like it to be, and most of the writing is scribbled between classes. Eventually, probably, I'll return to refine it. The good thing is that there's already about 11,000 words written, so you won't have to wait too long for me to update.

Annoyingly enough, my introduction here might be longer than the actual Prologue, but I can't really do anything about that, can I- I am here to warn you that there are graphic dark scenes in this, stuff that I do not condone nor want to give the impression that I glorify. There will be rape and incest; abuse and addiction. This is not a happy story, and although there are pairings and casual mentions of relationships, this is first and foremost a story about my character and how she functions in her world.

Some disclaimers now: I don't like Sherlock BBC as much as you guys probably think I do, and I write it for the sole reason that I can. It's a world I can manipulate and I can ignore the problematic as long as I know that it's there. Either way, I don't own the show either, nor do I own Slaughterhouse Five, which is probably mentioned only because I read the book a day before starting this fic. I do own my writing and most of my character Saoirse because if you've noticed, she's a Moriarty, and I don't own that- however, if you do end up posting my fic elsewhere and claiming it's yours, I can only express pity because there are probably better fics and less passive people to piss off.

Passive as I am, I am fuelled by reviews and even petty comments about typos because I hate reading what I write, so if you have an opinion that isn't unwarranted and offensive hatred, then please leave it in the review section.


	2. Plans

So I decided to upload the first part right after I'd uploaded the prologue, because both of these chapters are sort of still introductory, dialogue-heavy things. Eventually my writing will turn into Game of Thrones blocks of text when there needs to be the explanation that ties together events that occur. I know there's no explanation for the last part of this chapter, but it'll be realised soon without me having to explicitly say it. Anyway, the relationship between Sebastian, Jim, and Saoirse is wild and destructive and they know it. It's a little not good. I've also just realised that I've really no idea what Saoirse looks like other than 'vaguely like her twin.' I suppose that's something for the imagination, and if I figure it out, I'll let you all keep your thoughts.

The usual disclaimers apply. Please express opinions in the opinion box.

* * *

So it goes. She scrutinized her fingernails carefully before getting out of the jet, her hair windswept, hands clutched in Sebastian's. "I hate flying," she complained, her fingers digging into his palm. He winced.

"You'd think you'd get over your phobia after having to fly so often."

"I don't have a phobia," she snapped. "It's not unreasonable at all. I just don't like it. I get headaches and plane smells make me gag."

"All right, princess," he patted her on the back and pried his fingers from her. "I need my fingers—" Her hands were gripping his harder now and her eyes started wildly at him.

"I'd ruin you if I didn't like you so much," she murmured, twisting his wrist so he had to move his entire body to avoid her dislocating it. "And you wouldn't be able to shoot again, would you?"

"Saoirse," he gritted his teeth. She let go of him and pressed her lips onto his suddenly. His hands felt uncertain for a second; they hovered behind her back and then pulled her off of him. He let out a sigh as her lips parted from his, but he shook his head in defiance. "You can't just do that."

"I just did," she shrugged, lacing his fingers with hers. He considered pulling away again, but decided against it. She was truly in one of her snappier moods. "You're mine, don't you forget that."

"He's actually mine," Jim said from behind them. "And that's gross."

"You jealous?" she murmured, tracing a hand down Jim's face. He slapped her hand away in irritation.

"Leave us," he grinded his teeth and she rolled her eyes, shrugging her hand out of his grasp and turning around on her heels and marching away, eyes still on his.

"You'll turn your back by accident sometime," she shrugged and waved and turned into a black car. She opened the door and slid in. "Hello, Peter." She sighed and put on a smile and turned to greet him.

"Hello, Saoirse," the driver nodded. "Anything interesting happen in Russia?"

"Don't pretend you care," she said and nothing more was exchanged between the two until the car pulled up at the brownstone building that they were going to. _The Diogenes Club. _"You shouldn't have," she muttered dryly and turned to march into the building, past distasteful looks and the unnerving eyes of men. Nobody stopped her though—she was nearly as much of a regular as most of the men. They'd also had the misfortune of seeing her wrath when they tried to stop her entrance the first time. A pity, really. She turned into the room where she always met her favourite… handler.

"Saoirse," Mycroft smiled, crossing the room to greet her. He kissed her on the cheek and guided her to a chair, which she refused. He nonetheless sat in his leather chair, reclining and crossing his legs, his fingers laced across his knees. "Anything interesting happen in Russia?"

"The usual. Fur coats, the black market, the occasional homicide."

"I don't care about that."

"Oh, I know. It's the Korean elections you're worried about. You afraid a woman will win? But let's cut to the chase—I have what you want. And I'm willing to share it with you—"

"Your brother is infinitely better at persuasion."

"Whatever," she said, waving it off with a hand. To be fair, her insides were boiling angry. She wanted to get up, she wanted to turn his table over, punch his smug smile off the Holmes' face. Her hands tightened around themselves, but neither her eyes nor her expression wavered. "I don't like being compared to Jim, Mr Holmes."

"The folder," he sighed, his eyes suddenly weary. He looked beyond his years. "Please. I don't want to make this more complicated than it could be."

She reached into her bag and handed it to him without a word. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Holmes. But the clock is ticking. You don't have much longer."

"I'm aware of that," he snapped, putting it into the safe under his desk immediately. "Queen and country thanks you for your contribution today, Ms Moriarty."

"I don't need this country," she said, slightly bemused. "Good-bye, Mr Holmes." She stood to leave.

"You have to go through and finish with your side of the deal."

"I fully intend to," she flipped through her smartphone to the latest e-mail that his secretary sent to her. "Ravishing, isn't he?"

"Quite. I worry about him."

"Constantly," she finished, throwing her head back and laughing freely as she walked out of his office and the building.


	3. Wit

I wanted to do a short chapter; just the first section, but then decided that I'd just upload the next chapter anyway and combined them. Here we get the first mention of our golden boy, Sherlock Holmes and his shoddy personality. Also, we find out that Saoirse's definitely a Moriarty, with emotional baggage and all.

I'd really like a review, you know. Or like... questions... I mean, I bet half of you are curious about the personalities I haven't fleshed out yet. The threesome dynamic is a bit strange, even to me, but eh.

* * *

"He won't be happy," Sebastian warned her. "That's his territory. His level of expertise."

"You aren't calling me stupid, are you?" she snapped, fire boiling in her chest, wrapping around her lungs. "I never dishonour promises."

"You don't owe Queen and country," he spat out, grabbing her arm. She struggled, but her mind was too infuriated to do anything worthwhile to fight back. "None of them owe us anything. _Jim saved you_, Saoirse. Fuck the government. Fuck Holmes."

"_I died you twat_," she hissed, head-butting him and pulling out of his grip. "I don't owe them! They had the responsibility to back me up but they let me _rot_. All they did was fix my face, change my name. _They owe me!_ I'm going to fucking build up the things they owe me until they have to call me Queen and country!"

"Hate is unbecoming of you," he said, his eyebrow going up and his mouth twisting into something horrible. "And here I thought you were the sane Moriarty."

She laughed, sliding into his arms and trailing a hand slowly up his shirt, tracing circles at the puckered scar in his abdomen that she'd left there so many years ago. "You've got it backwards, honey." She leaned up to kiss him, her body melting into his. He hummed, large calloused fingers tracing at her neck, pulling at her hair.

"Feels like a goodbye."

"I don't like goodbyes," she said when they parted. "I just have to disappear for a while. Don't tell Jim where I've gone."

"He'll figure it out."

"Let him play the game," she gave him a dry smile and picked up her purse from the ground. "Have fun at work today."

He shooed her away before turning back to packing guns into his bag.

* * *

"I'm Ariadne Black," Saoirse offered her hand to Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft had given her a job at Scotland Yard as Greg Estrada's superior. It seemed excessive, but "Sherlock isn't impressed with status or wealth. Only sheer wit," was what he explained.

He eyed her hand, and then eyed her. And then his gloved hands. And then he slowly and distastefully shook her hand, and then quickly pulled away as if she harboured a disease.

"So I heard you do free deductions," she said coyly, leaning back in her plush leather chair. Behind the younger Holmes, Lestrade let out a long sigh. After that, there was a longer silence.

"Most people refer to them as parlour tricks," a blonde man in a cable-knit jumper said, breaking the awkward pause. Saoirse looked down at the post-it note on the edge of her desk. John Watson. "It's the first time, you know, that somebody hasn't called them a parlour trick. His deductions, I mean. They're brilliant though. They're great."

Saoirse raised an eyebrow at him as he stuttered along his sentence. "So? Are you going to impress me?"

"I have nothing to prove to you," Sherlock said, his dark eyes flashing at her.

"No," she agreed. "But you're going to do it anyway."

There was a brief moment where he narrowed his eyes and raised his upper lip to one side, in a manner that seemed to her that he was sneering at her. "You've just moved back to London. Your accent says born here, moved to America at a young age. But Scotland Yard wouldn't appoint someone with clear, strong ties to America—you moved back to Britain to finish your education. Your previous job wasn't labour-intensive, but you play a string instrument judging by the pattern of the callousing on your finger pads. It wasn't a desk job—your posture is too straight for that; it was a standing job. The comfortable nature of your shoes indicates that as well—they're worn in, but only at the soles. No jewellery of significance or a ring of any sort present, no ring shadow on your left hand, so never married. You either don't like flashy things or you can't afford them. Betting on the first one because your purse is from a designer Italian brand. You have a Westwood watch, which are quite expensive, so it says you don't know nothing about recent trends. You also are punctual. You haven't slept in two days—insomnia, perhaps? But strong indicators of obsessive-compulsive disorder, as there's a divide between neat freaks and people obsessed with symmetry, as seen by your immaculately organized desk. You're trying to quit smoking," he said, looking at the nicotine patches in the box under her immaculately organized desk. "You're an only child, born in the late 80s, I'd say 30 years old."

Saoirse raised an eyebrow. "I'm impressed, Mr Holmes. Almost completely correct." _Wrong, wrong, wrong_, her subconscious cackled. He was right about some things though—she indeed hadn't rested the night before, having been too preoccupied with making sure she had her Ariadne persona down pat. It was funny to her that after the rehab centre that she would be revisiting the woman that she thought she was for so long. And now she was her identity—the only thing that the two personalities shared was their OCD and their faces.

"What did I get wrong?" he snapped, nearly lunging forward to meet her. "There's always something." He mumbled to himself, and then snapped his neck up. "Well? Tell me?"

"He's pleased," John Watson mused, nodding at Ariadne. She smiled.

"I haven't had parents for a long time," she shrugged. "And my bag is designer French, I'll have you know. I worked as a lawyer; we don't sit much," She laughed, picking up a pen and marking a few of her notes on a case that she unfortunately had the misfortune of having to assign. She looked up and waggled the pen at him. "I'm impressed though, Holmes. Smart. You're a riot. I like you."

Sherlock noticeably straightened his spine and puffed his chest out in pride? Superiority? She suppressed a maniacal laugh. "Right. John, Detective-Inspector, we have a case to attend." He walked out the door, John lagging behind just a bit.

"Don't mind him," he gave her an apologetic look. "He's always like that. He's pleased though. At your compliment, I mean. It means he'll insult you less." He popped out the door. Lestrade furrowed his eyes at the pair and approached his new superior's desk.

"Erma, the case files, then?" she handed them to him wordlessly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I know it's weird, having a consulting detective at the Met. I hope you don't mind. We don't pay him anything, and he's good for the department's rep. He's good though, at his job I mean."

"I didn't doubt him for a second," she chuckled. "He's brilliant, isn't he."

"Yeah," Lestrade said, trailing out the door at a muffled "HURRY UP, LESTRADE!" down the hall. "He is." She watched him leave and closed the door to her office behind him before considering moving.

"I like him," she commented at the secretary when she picked up the phone. She could almost hear the girl roll her eyes as she connected her to Mycroft's office. "Hello, Mycroft dearest."

"I'm glad you're in a good mood," he commented. It was her turn to roll her eyes as she spun in her fancy new desk chair. "I take it you've met my brother."

"Most certainly. He's an interesting one. I can tell why Jim has such a crush on him," she offered, drawing circles on her notepad before giving up and tossing it away. Paperwork was so boring. Her knee started going up and down impatiently. "And he's just ignorant enough not to have recognized me. I'll bet his Doctor has, though, I'm warning you."

"I hope your brother and his feelings will not get in the way of your task," he commented wryly. "And the good Doctor also has a tendency to not notice the significance of certain things."

"I'm doing you a favour, Mycroft," she grinned, putting her legs up on her desk. "Jim doesn't know where I've gone. After all, I do have a habit of disappearing for extended periods of time." She said the last sentence in a serious tone. Mycroft didn't speak.

"Do be careful. Keep my brother safe. I'm afraid your enemy is more dangerous than your brother," he said tersely before adding, "Good-bye, Ms Moriarty." But she'd already hung up.


	4. Lunch

You should all review. No, really. I'm getting increasingly giggly about everything I've written. There's a flashback in this chapter, although the flashback doesn't end there- it's a rather long one and is responsible for explaining the Moriarty twins' peculiarities. This is a short one, sorry.

* * *

"Sherlock, I've seen her before," John hobbled up to Sherlock, the invisible pain in his leg shooting up once more. Although his limp was psychosomatic, it didn't mean that sometimes he had trouble with it. The day was damp and grey, which didn't help. "Lestrade's boss."

"She works in the Met and was a lawyer, I'm sure you've seen her lazing around his office," Sherlock snapped, swooping under the caution tape of the crime scene and stalking briskly to where Lestrade stood, huddled with his officers.

"No I mean," John paused. "She knows Mycroft."

"She's one of the heads of Scotland Yard," Sherlock looked back exasperatedly and grabbed a pile of papers from Lestrade's hands, flipping through them. "Of course she knows Mycroft." John huffed.

"She introduced herself as Althea to me," John explained. "You know, the girl with the cell phone? When's the last time you actually connected with your brother, god man! I flirted with her, oh _god_!"

"You flirted with Lestrade's boss?" Sherlock raised his brow as if he hadn't heard a word John had just spouted out. He could see his face turning redder and redder but he ignored him, prodding at the dead body they'd come to a stop at.

"She's your brother's _secretary!"_ John screeched. Lestrade looked over, finally.

"Ariadne is Mycr—?"

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped, lifting a sleeve on the dead body. He looked up, sniffing. "It was the aunt. Case closed."

"Wait—what—Sherlock—the—" Lestrade spluttered, not knowing what to make of the dual conversation that was occurring.

* * *

"Jim is wondering," Sebastian commented over a glass of whisky. They were at Veeraswarmy's, a fancy Indian restaurant in Piccadilly. The pair had already gotten their fair share of strange looks from surrounding people—a tall, brusque man in battered combat boots and unkempt blonde hair, and a petite brunette dressed head to toe in brand name styles.

"He can keep wondering," Saoirse rolled her eyes, sipping at her tea. "It's not the first time I've disappeared. And he doesn't have as many eyes as Mycroft does."

"He has me," he looked at her pointedly. She gave him a look.

"You tell him, you lose your fingers."

"You wouldn't," Sebastian said with a mocking shocked face. He snickered, taking the rest of his drink like a shot. "Anyway, Jim said that he was going to be busy, anyway. Ever since you guys murdered Adler, he's been going on about some bullshit like secret messages on apples and angel wings. He made me fucking graffiti a place near Holmes' house the other day. I. O. U. He's fucking obsessed."

"Sounds like brother dearest," she shrugged. "I'm not going to get involved with his game. I don't fancy dying. You know how he is in one of his fits." She shuddered, remembering the last time Jim lost himself. He'd attacked and- she'd tried her hardest in her years to forget about it- raped her. She was alive only because Jim had snapped out of his swing to take her to the hospital.

* * *

_ Saoirse was sitting in the flat she shared with Jim, a cigarette sticking out from between her lips and Sebastian situated slightly underneath her on the couch, his hand stroking gently across the space between the edge of her shirt (his shirt) and her upper thigh. Sometimes he would lean over and kiss her bare shoulder, exposed as she gently shrugged it to one side, the neck hole slightly too large for her petite frame. Other times he would breath gently on her neck, kiss her jaw, another hand running through tendrils of her hair._

_ "I feel like a doll," she sniffed, ducking from his searching lips. "I won't kiss you until you shave."_

_ "You're not the one that's being shared by two twins," he pointed out, kissing her anyway, chuckling as she swatted at his head. The moment was interrupted, however, when a loud banging came from the direction of the door, just outside of the living room. _

_ "_Saoirse_," Jim's voice bellowed from the door. "Aren't you going to greet your fucking brother?" _

_ "Shit," she cursed, withdrawing herself from Sebastian's arms. He reached out to gently grasp her wrist, a gesture that normally would have grounded her, would have let her sprawl back down across Sebastian's arms. She wanted to believe that it would be all right, that she could sit against his chest and let him rock her back and forth until Jim's madness had blown over. _

_But she couldn't._


	5. Young

Here we see some more destruction! No really, there are going to be a few trigger warnings in this and the next chapter (by the way, they're all still in flashback mode). Stuff includes abuse, blood, dubcon, etc. I decided it was easier to reveal backstories if I just did it this way.

Please review and stuff.

* * *

_Jim was alright when he was younger. He was only ever occasionally angry, when mother and father scolded him for doing things curiously, examined meticulously and experimented with relentlessly. They hated it. He wasn't a child they wanted; Saoirse was even more of a mistake. Their grandmother was something of a monster born from the eugenics movement; unfortunately, the hag had developed complications after the Second World War and needed a bone marrow and heart transplant; a match couldn't be made soon enough, so she'd begged her son and his wife to give her grandchildren to 'make her superior again.'_

_ Perhaps everyone in the Moriarty family were mad, but the twin Moriarty's parents had relented and found the one scientist in Ireland willing to follow what had been forbidden after the war and the horrors of the eugenics movement had been revealed. He found matches in one of Mrs Moriarty's eggs, and fertilised it with Mar. Moriarty's sperm, then planted it into her womb. It was a quick process, barely double-checked, and done with shaky fingers inside of an abortion clinic in Belfast. What the foolish doctor didn't notice was that he'd picked two eggs inside of one, both fertilized by one sperm. _

_ The two children would be fraternal twins, born on the same day and somehow, by genetic anomaly, looked so alike that only by sex were they separable by birth. They grew up looking similar too; eventually in puberty Saoirse developed softer curves and James' jaw grew more pronounced, his eyes deeper-set and masculine. Even so, they were able to convince the odd person that they were genetic extraordinaires, one of the few identical twins in existence that were of opposite sex (of course, any real geneticist would be able to deny this, but they didn't often come across anyone of this sort)._

_ Either way, unfortunately both parents came from families with slightly suppressed mental disorder genes and it came to light after the twins were born to parents that didn't want them, and didn't love them. Grandmother Moriarty died before James was old enough to be forced to donate his organs, and Saoirse and James suffered the wrath of their parents. Life fell apart, and the two escaped their woes by spending as much time as humanly possible outside of their destructive home. Eventually, Mrs Moriarty ended up in a coma after beating her two children silly and running out into the street where she was run over by a speeding car. Mar. Moriarty shot at the children and the nanny, who died, before promptly "running into the set of knives multiple times," which is what the official police report said. The children ended up ordering life support being cut from their mother at the hospital as they deemed it unfit that they should spend any of their meagre inheritance supporting their worthless and abusive mother. _

_ By that time, the two children were nearly teenagers, and were already disturbed so badly by their home situation that they'd made promises to each other to defeat anybody that wronged them. This included every child that bullied the two orphans, every teacher that dared complain about their behaviour, peers that earned higher scores than them, friends that dared talk to people other than them, and people that attempted to separate the twins. However, nobody could prove that they hurt or killed anybody, and people like Carl Powers faded from people's memories, and the proud smiles on their faces as they committed their crimes never registered with their victim's minds. They were strange. Anybody with eyes and ears could realise that—not a day would go by without one of the twins saying something soberly morbid. They didn't go very far without each other, and people would double take when they saw them kiss cheeks or hold hands although they did this in public rarely. They'd been evicted from flats time after time again after one of them had one of their episodes, scaring the other residents and landlords so much they were told to never approach the flat again lest they risk having a restraining order. They would attend Oxford University, where personality did not matter but your knowledge was what counted, where they would first hear of Sherlock Holmes, and where James would start his true descent into madness. James would stalk him feverishly and his habits started to morph into Sherlock's, and it was the first time that James and Saoirse had a fight, because she claimed she couldn't recognise her brother any more._

_ She would do a brief stint in the escort services where she would gain an in with the British royalty and meet Irene Adler for the first time; he would have a temporary teaching position at University of Leeds and publish a book on mathematics which made his name well known within the realm of academic conspirators. He would Sherlock Holmes' mother at a maths lecture at Leeds and would once again fall into the abyss that was Sherlock Holmes. They would use each other's connections and she would bribe James' colleagues with sex and intelligence scandals; he would meet with members of Parliament and threaten them with death and public humiliation with information his sister would give him._

_ They became drunk with power, and it slowly became more and more obvious that the twins, if separated, would very quickly descend into madness. They had taken turns being apprehended by Mycroft Holmes' superior until the man realized that separating the twins did nothing but trouble and after a particularly bad scandal, offed himself, letting the elder Holmes take charge. They were never written up for the incident, and after that, they swore to keep everything they did a better secret. _

_ The older Moriarty twin was always the more volatile of the two, the younger being the one that was born, perhaps, to stop him. Currently he had already knocked over three chairs and a glass table, and was sucking on where a shard of glass had pierced his thumb and had pouring himself a glass of whiskey. _

_ "Saoirse," he said, seemingly calm, but she knew that this was he at his most dangerous. James Moriarty was the most dangerous when he was calm, because he would think clearly. But yet she knew he was in the midst of losing himself again… "_Saoirse._ Get your arse over here right now!"_

_ "Fuck off, Jim," Sebastian said, getting up as Saoirse did, attempting to bar her from getting near her brother with an arm. _

_ "_Fuck you_," he hissed, slamming his glass on the fireplace's mantle, letting the liquid slosh around and seep into the carpet. "I can do whatever the fuck I want. My house, my sister."_

_ "Jim," Saoirse sighed, tentatively reaching to stroke the side of his neck gently. "Please. Calm down. You're going to start to scare me."_

_ "Moriartys are afraid of nothing, not even fucking up their children," he retorted bitterly, slapping away her hand and backhanding her roughly and then shoving her into the broken glass table. His shoes crunching through shattered glass, he raised a foot and kicked her in the side, some of the shards digging deeper into Saoirse's broken skin. Her lips formed a pained 'o' and Sebastian, behind her twin, let out an enraged cry and reached over to shove Jim away. _

_ "You fucking got to stop," he growled, hesitating slightly as he bent down to retrieve Saoirse, attempting to find a plane of skin where he wouldn't be hurting her more by picking her up. Eventually he picked her up under her arms, his fingers carefully avoiding the shards of glass in her skin, his fingers tucked safely under her thighs. _

_ "Let her go," Jim hissed. "Leave, Sebastian. You're hired to protect me, to do what I say, not her. She's mine, do you hear?" _

_ "I don't mind when you tell me to kill anybody," Sebastian challenged. He knew that this probably spelled out an early death for him, but he couldn't let the man gravely injure his sister when he was in one of these states. He'd rather be killed by Jim when he was in his moods than be killed when his mind was full and conscious of consequences. That would mean that he truly wanted him dead. "But you're going to fucking regret it once you're yourself again. You can kill anybody but family."_

_ "This _is_ me," Jim said loudly, picking up his glass of scotch that had sloshed over on the fireplace mantle and throwing the cup at Sebastian, who barely managed to avoid it with Saoirse in his arms. "Let her go." _

_ Sebastian grit his teeth. He couldn't leave Saoirse here, but he knew that it would be a lot worse for her next time Jim was in his moods if he didn't leave. And he was right. He wasn't supposed to care about her. He was hired by Jim Moriarty to murder and pillage the rich and protect the man from a reckless death. He had no reason to care about Saoirse Moriarty; he had no reason to want to protect her and he was not benefiting himself by protecting her. _

_ And with a sigh, he set Jim's sister down lightly, and turned to leave, unwilling to stay for what would be sure to occur. From then on, this was the basis of the relationship between the three 'friends.' Sebastian agreed not to care about Saoirse in moments of Jim's weakness if she agreed never to save him from a sure death in his field of work. Jim agreed to let Sebastian see Saoirse after hours, if he agreed to leave the twins alone when he wanted him to. There was no love, there was no care. _


	6. Glass

Literally the weirdest chapter I've ever written and it's pretty disturbing, so I'm leaving a few trigger warnings here for abuse, blood, incest, dubcon bordering rape, etc. Really, though. It's bad. You can probably skip this chapter just knowing that the Moriartys are a bit incestuous and Jim is a huge bastard that does bad things to his sister.

Either way, here's the chapter and I'm not promising anything too fancy. Please review this time. Or at least talk to me about how derpy my writing is.

* * *

_ "I never said you could leave," Jim said flatly, his usual soft Irish lilt gone from his voice. Sebastian halted in his tracks._

_ "Jim," Saoirse sighed from the floor, her accent making up for what was missing from her twin. "Help."_

_ "Sorry, darling," he said lightly, reaching down to pull a shard of glass that had lodged itself in her right shoulder. She hissed breathlessly, turning so he could tug roughly at the rest of the shards of glass in her skin. "Help me, Sebastian."_

_ Sebastian grit his teeth again, knowing that he wanted him to help only because he wanted his sister in top shape before he could hurt her again. His swings had never been so bad before; not within his manic highs._

_ Wordlessly, they removed the last of the glass shards from her skin, and Jim carried his sister to the bathroom and removed her clothing slowly. She turned her head and looked pointedly at her brother and Sebastian, the latter starting the tub and watching the steam rise comfortingly to the ceiling. Jim reached his arms outwards, and Saoirse picked at her brother's button lapels, popping them open one by one, after which Sebastian helped Jim out of his pants, ignoring his crotch with an obvious twist in his lips. Saoirse tugged on Sebastian's shirt and he quickly stripped down, and the two men lowered Saoirse into the water and climbed into the tub after her, the girl squeezed between the two of them, skin pressed against skin. _

_ "Don't you think this is a bit weird," Sebastian said flatly._

_ "Not really," she said airily, wincing as the hot water seeped into her wounded flesh. Jim shrugged, his uncalloused fingers reaching over to gently rub soap into her skin, careful to not press hard into her wounds. Sebastian did the same, his fingers massaging shampoo through her hair. "Don't you have a sibling, Sebastian?"_

_ "He's dead," he said easily, shrugging. "But I guess we did bathe together, I guess. He died when I was only ten years old, so I don't know if it's normal for people our age to be doing this."_

_ "I think it's normal for people who love each other to bathe together," she said happily, Jim's hands moving slowly downwards on her body, still ignoring the most intimate parts of her. "Maybe not siblings, but I love you, and Jim loves you, and I know you love the both of us."_

_ "Speak for yourself," Jim muttered._

_ It became suddenly very apparent to Sebastian that no, normal adult siblings did not bathe together; forget about a pair of twins that took turns loving one man. Sebastian began to wonder whether or not he'd been roped into something he wasn't quite sure he could do, but before he could seriously give it any thought, Saoirse had dug her fingers into his hair and was letting Jim's fingers wander around her unashamedly before his fingers left her with a sigh and grasped Sebastian's cock, palming it heavily._

_ Sebastian didn't think he could ever turn back from this moment, but it seemed that his mind had completely gotten up and left his brain the moment Jim's fingers touched him below his torso._

_ Fort he next hour or so, they spent time in the tub exploring taboo and each other's bodies, and Sebastian gave in albeit a little tentative of their actions. Eventually he found himself lined up between Saoirse's thighs while Jim was pushing up against his backside, and his mind literally lost all care for what was wrong in the world and gave himself to the twins, however eccentric and unconventional and wrong they were._

_ Eventually though, Jim was satisfied, his cock softening inside of Sebastian and his voice rougher than normal. His mood had returned and Sebastian was finding himself groaning at the rough paddling his backside was receiving from Jim's palm, and Saoirse was groaning as Sebastian was still nestled between her folds and every time Sebastian lurched forward from Jim's violent advances, she found herself being filled painfully by the man inside her._

_ "Jim," she gasped. "Stop. Sebastian, please leave." She swallowed, looking at him pointedly and he sighed, biting his lip and moaning softly as he pulled back out of her, cum seeping out of her and spilling in with little red stains from the numerous cuts on her body. He stroked her clit passively before leaning forward to kiss Jim's sister softly on her lips before retracting himself from Jim, biting his lips a little harder. He grabbed his towel, and left the room. _

_ "Was that good?" Jim croaked. Saoirse sighed, her fingers gripping her brother's cock firmly, massaging it back to erection and rolling over so that she was straddling his chest. "Do you remember what he said? About it being weird that brothers and sisters do this sort of thing?"  
"I remember," she agreed. "But I don't necessarily think we're all that weird. We're a special case, I think. We're messed up. You know that. We've been doing this for years. We're never going to be a normal brother and sister pair. Sometimes, I wish we were. But I know that's never going to happen." She looked down at her brother, affection lined with slightly pain in her eyes as he gripped her hips roughly, digging into the cuts that the glass had left in her skin earlier. _

_ "But why not?" he hissed._

_ She looked at him sadly. "You know why." She kissed him softly, and he responded with the same rough fervour that he'd been holding back all night, his fingers digging deeper, his teeth biting roughly, leaving angry red marks across her skin because _she belonged to him_. He was her brother. She was his sister. They belonged together. No one, not even the man they mutually loved, could get in between them. _

_ They never joined into one, but their fingers found themselves exploring each other thoroughly, his cock had found itself stroked into submission by her lips and her clit had been thoroughly ravaged by his tongue. _

_And then his mood, once again, turned violent for the worse and without Sebastian, had no one to tame it down. Saoirse sighed, putting up mental defences. She knew that her physical abuse from her brother was not his fault, but she couldn't help but feel estranged from the family further because she let him beat her. Sometimes, her violent tendencies found the best of her and she lashed out at him occasionally, but it was never to the extent that he would spill his precious life blood all over the floor and that four men, an ambulance, and an intense electric charge would be the only things to wake him from the dead…_

_ "Fuck," she hissed, gritting her teeth painfully, salty water threatening to leak out from her tear ducts. He spanked her hard, maybe ten times, maybe more—she started to lose count as the pain from all her cuts that he was digging into made her woozy and lose consciousness slightly. _

_ "Stay the fuck awake," he started, reaching over to his drawer to retrieve the riding crop, which he slapped across her skin until he could see bright red welts forming and the white sheets dirty with red, crimson, blood…_

_ "Stop," she bit her pillow and gripped it tightly, her knuckles white and the silky fabric under her washed with wetness from her body and her eyes. "Stop, Jim. I'm sorry. Sorry."_

_ "There's nothing to fucking be sorry for, just shut up," he slapped her harder, and she clamped her mouth shut, willing everything to end quickly. There were no safe words in this relationship; Jim had officially lost it and there was no helping the two of them until his mood was over. _

_ Saoirse felt herself let go and another person take over. She gasped. "Fuck, fuck _Jim_," she gasped, her ass raising up, grinding into his crotch. He groaned, pulling violently at her hair and she lifted her head._

_ "Fuck yeah, Ariadne," he hissed, knowing that his sister had left him and that he was being joined by her other personality, one that found carnal pleasures in what he was doing, one with a higher pain tolerance, one less human. He liked this woman less; she was crass and more authoritive; she did not love Jim as his twin did. Jim didn't think Ariadne was capable of love; she was the personality there whenever their father beat them. And he suddenly became extremely pissed off, because he realized his sister had abandoned him because she didn't want to share with him anymore. He hissed wildly and found his place between her soft folds again and slammed inside roughly, Ariadne's head jerking upwards and her mouth formed in a tight 'o' shape. Jim threw the riding crop aside and exchanged it for a violent hand, every jerk of their bodies bringing him to slap her with reckless abandon on her behind until she was crying from pain and never from pleasure._

_ "Jamesss," Ariadne hissed as he continued to slam into her from behind, loud slapping and the creaking of the bed as they lurched forward the only thing she could hear ringing in her ears. She reached with one hand to cover Jim's hand, where it was beginning to grasp a little too tightly around her throat, her head tossed back and her hair everywhere. _

_ "Yes," Jim hissed back, groaning as their sticky bodies merged together, beads of sweat glistening on his chest. His hips jerked forward and he leaned down to bite her hard on her shoulder, until he could taste her coppery blood seeping into his lips. Saoirse squeezed her eyes clothed, harder than they already were, and screamed as best as she could, throat burning from where her brother had dug into. She felt him empty into her, his hips still jerking into her, and he sighed as he pulled out, his cock limp. He bent down to her vagina, where it was slowly dripping his cum into the sheets, mixing with the blood that was Saoirse's. He hummed appreciatively when she jerked her head, her eyes changing, and he knew that she was back to being his twin sister. _

_ "Isn't that nice?" he said, kissing her labia once before jerking his head up to meet her eyes with his. "Clean me off," he gestured towards his cock. Saoirse swallowed before bending down to his crotch and licked his cum off the best she could, her tongue swirling over its head and tracing the veins on the shaft that had just been intimate with her. She realized suddenly what they had just done; that the veins on the cock that she was sucking had the same blood that was in her, that was spilled out on the bed, that was mixed in with dirty orgasms._

_ "Jim," she bit her lip when he pulled her by the hair, evidently finished with her tongue. He didn't let her finish, shoving her back onto the bed, her hair floating around her head like a halo, her breasts buried in the sheets and her legs wide open. She prayed that he wouldn't ridicule her by fucking her again; she didn't know if Ariadne would return anytime soon. She left her head buried into the pillow as she heard a drawer open and close. Her body was cold. She almost believed that Jim had left her before she heard him crawl up the bed towards her, feeling the bed dip in his weight. She began to panic slightly, not being able to see him or his intentions. She hated not knowing. She hated that in the morning after all of this ordeal, she would probably be half dead and he would have disassociated the entire night away and he would remember nothing of his actions. _

_ When she felt the first pierce of his knife, she screamed. Her body was on fire; everything was warm. She didn't know whether it was adrenaline or her warm blood that her heart was beating rapidly. That was the last thing she remembered before she felt the disassociation taking over and she closed her eyes and let it go, continuing to scream and letting him turn her head to the mirror, where she could see truly how horrible she looked. Blood was everywhere. She stopped breathing when she saw her brother practically use her blood as lubricant as he wordlessly slammed his newly erect cock into her, and she sobbed as she watched him desecrate her; watched him carve Jim Moriarty into her skin. _

_ When she woke up, she would know nothing but the pain she felt everywhere on her body and the aching of her eyes as she stared up into the white ceiling of the hospital room and the fact that she was in the room very, very alone. _


	7. Note

Hey guys, a few notes:

1. I am a college student and I update things erratically.

2. I am writing this for fun! With no beta! I write half of this during Renaissance when I don't want to listen to Machiavelli bitching! Sometimes it's 4am!

3. Please, please review. Seriously. It's not as if people aren't reading this, because I see all of you creeping along. I know it isn't the best written thing in the world but it's nice to hear what people think of the progression of events. Or suggestions of where it should go. (I should make this story into a 'Make Your Own Adventure.' Click to Chapter 10 if you think she should go left. Click to chapter 12 if you think she should shoot Jim and run for her life.)

4. No but really it gets pretty lonely posting this story. Sorry for the sporadically long chapters. I've no control over it, really. It all depends on scene length. At least I divided the flashback up or else there would be a random 5k word chapter and everything else would be ridiculously puny in comparison...

5. I might write a Harry Potter fic.

6. Anyway, you should review. Also, guess if you know who I am on tumblr. Seriously. Guess. It'll be fun.

I'll be updating tomorrow during... you guessed it, history lecture.


	8. Partner

Thanks for reviewing~ I do my best writing during Biology and History, I think. Anyway, please continue reviewing and whatnot. 3 You guys are all really lovely. Sorry again for the horrible flashback. Saoirse agrees how horrid it was.

* * *

"Best let him toy with Sherlock Holmes," she said finally, shivering at the vague memory. Her brother was twisted, and she did well to stay away from him when he was in one of his moods. What had happened that day was an accident, even though Jim had never apologized. But he left her alone whenever she was being intimate with Sebastian, and she left him alone when he was doing the same. It was a silent mutual agreement that they had, that it would inevitably lead to disaster if he cared too much. He could—he would rape her again. His sister. "His game is ending soon, anyway."

"What's your plan?"

"What plan?" she said innocently, twisting her lips into a smirk. She moved her hand and gently caressed his hand, rubbing her thumb over his calloused skin, squeezing her eyes shut painfully before opening them again, sighing. "Sebastian, stay out of it. I've been in contact with the other Holmes. He's trying to take my brother down."

"Whose side are you even on?" Sebastian threw his arms up exasperatedly, bringing them down to clutch the hand that was still extended towards her. Saoirse was probably one of the most confusing women he'd ever met in his life.

She suffered from numerous psychological tragedies and Sebastian attributed her insanity to the experiences she had. Sebastian rued seeing the day she decided she didn't need him anymore and actually removed his fingers from his body one by one.

"I'm on my side," she murmured, finishing off her tea. "I'm not going to interfere with whatever Jim's planning, but I'm not necessarily helping the Holmeses either. I'm merely interacting with Sherlock as I owe Mycroft this favour."

"You owe the Queen nothing," he said sharply.

"Your prejudice, or mine?" she said lightly, laughing a little. He cringed. He knew her so well. Sebastian had been discharged dishonourably from Afghanistan after brutally committing genocide on multiple villages, but on direct orders from the ministry. He'd raped and pillaged and _god_, he missed the war. It was why when the Moriarty's had showed up in the alleyway that he'd been residing in years ago that he jumped up to help them. He missed it. He craved the blood and flesh of war, and the Moriarty siblings were to bring it to him.

"How'd Ariadne doing?" he averted the subject.

"Fine," she shrugged. "She's fine. Hanging in there. Sherlock Holmes analysed her today. Got her all correct, he's sharper than I thought he was."

"But you're not Ariadne anymore," he pointed out.

"No," she laughed. "Which also makes him the biggest idiot in the world, doesn't it? I think his friend Mr Watson actually recognized me."

"As Althea?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "But you know Anthea's really just me with my face buried in a phone. He's got a real PA. Pretty little thing," she said absentmindedly, stirring her drink around.

"I don't understand why you let Mycroft cart you around like that."

"He has no evidence to arrest me," she laughed, stealing some of his whisky. She smacked her lips afterwards. Sebastian raised his lips to his whisky glass again, licking carefully where her lips had rested just before. "I like to think he keeps me around to pick something he can take me in for. Part of me thinks he harbours some sort of _sentiment_ to me. Doesn't want Jim to get to me when he's in one of his moods. You know how brother dearest can be."

"You're insane."

"Only for you," she winked, getting up and throwing a wad of cash on the table before leaning over to kiss him. "Take a shower at my place? Jim's going to be at your flat tomorrow morning and you smell dreadfully a lot like me right now. I've got your shampoos and I don't terribly mind smelling like you," she looked over her shoulder and winked. His pants tightly considerably as he shot up and raced after her swaying hips.

Saoirse awoke with the sun blazing into her weary eyes. She buried her face into Sebastian's bare chest, his hand squeezing her closer to his body. He let out a small groaning noise and she sighed contently, kissing her favourite scar of his—the one that she'd left on him, the one an inch away from his heart—and slipped away from his grasp, stretching a little before tip-toeing to the kitchen without any intention of putting clothing on.

It must have been a hilarious scene from anybody looking in; a naked girl standing in front of a kettle as if staring at it would make the water boil any faster; hair mussed up and love bites spotting her chest. When it boiled, she nearly splattered it everywhere because she hadn't been paying proper attention—she jumped as it nearly missed her toes and managed to get most of the water into the teapot.

"I love a woman that makes breakfast for me," Sebastian's nude body pressed against her back, his arms reaching around to cup her breasts tenderly.

"It's not breakfast," she said, wiggling out of his grasp to pour the tea and handing him a cup. "And we're not dating. Don't say the "L" word so meaninglessly."

Saoirse coveted love. She didn't believe she loved Sebastian, which is why she'd never said it to him, but she wanted him and that was enough for her to keep him around. She wanted him because he was there, and because she wanted everything that her brother had. She was admittedly jealous, because James had gotten to Sebastian before her. Saoirse at first thought she wasn't capable of love, much like Ariadne, because of her past. Compared to Jim, she was more passive, her passion more subdued. Without parental love as a child, she found it hard to believe that she could compare her feelings to anything, so she decided that she didn't love anything.

Ariadne was different. Ariadne did not love because she saw her father abuse her and Jim; because her mother was evil, because they had decided to pull life support and didn't feel anything from it. Her biggest secret of all, however, was that she was not guilty enough for doing this next thing: she had killed her father.

It wasn't survivor's guilt; far from it. She believed that in order to experience survivor's guilt you had to at least somehow sympathise for the victim, but her father was not a victim. She knew exactly what had happened, but Saoirse had disassociated after the event and made things messy. Their father had, in fact, "run into a bunch of knives multiple times," as the police report said, but nobody could pin it on two innocent-looking children. Jim hadn't even wanted to approach their father with a weapon, claiming that he deserved to live and suffer watching them grow up and be happier than he—but Ariadne wanted more. She said that justice was equality for those that do equal things, a la Aristotle, and said that because their parents had physically abused them, their payout would be physical hurt as well.

"Love love _love_," Sebastian continued, ignoring Saoirse's uncomfortable stare, snickering into his cup of tea. "I know we're not dating. Jim thinks he's dating me. I can't very well date the both of you, can I?"

"It's not stopped you in other situations," she pointed out, bringing him back to the memory of the time he'd bedded an entire family of siblings before they'd realized what had happened and beaten him out of their house permanently.

He smiled sheepishly. "I'd rather not get fired by Boss." She wrinkled her nose at her brother's title.

"If he's your Boss and your boyfriend, what am I?"

"You're my partner in crime," he winked, dropping a kiss on her shoulder before taking her teacup from her and putting both of their cups in the sink. He lifted her and put her on the counter, ignoring her swatting hands. Bending down, he trailed kisses up her smooth thighs before taking her with his mouth, her fingers immediately reaching forward to grab his hair to bring his face closer to her warmth.

"I think I'll keep you," she groaned. He responded by lifting her up and dropping her on the empty table.

Later, he was lightly peppering kisses on her neck when her alarm went off. She pushed him off gently and went to her bedroom, where she read her phone time as 8AM. "Sebastian?"

"What?" he groaned, walking into the bedroom again, stretching his sore muscles.

"Come take that shower with me," she said hurriedly. "I've got my shift in half an hour and you've got to be at your flat to meet Jim." He cursed inwardly, but let her herd him to the bathroom, where they emerged slightly more than the ten minutes it needed for them to shower. He reached down to kiss her before she left the flat, but she ducked out of the way. "He'll know if he kisses you," she warned before blowing him a kiss anyway and stepping out the door.


End file.
